


Sinusoid Curves

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Go back to sleep.”</p><p>“Stop waking me up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinusoid Curves

Shuuzou wakes up in a hot sweat just as the air conditioner goes off again; with all its power it’s weakening and the thermostat’s not doing a very good job if it thinks it’s keeping things at 65 Fahrenheit (and he’s double-checked the conversion to make sure that’s a reasonable temperature because no matter how many years he’s lived here he still can’t get used to these temperature units). He’ll have to change the filter tomorrow, at least—not really the thing he looks forward to coming home from a long day of school and work but, well, someone’s got to keep the house running and it sure as hell won’t be Ryouta (although it would be amusing to see him try, the way it had when he’d been tasked with putting together their shitty IKEA bookcase and couldn’t figure out which way to turn the screwdriver).

He peels off his soaked shirt and tosses it into the corner; it already feels a little better. But he’s moving around too much and Ryouta (who’s always slept wary like some kind of predator) stirs, twirling the covers around himself in a half-cocoon. He blinks; in the half-light his yellow eyes gleam like a cat’s.

“Shuucchi?”

“Go back to sleep.”

“Stop waking me up.”

His words are slurred together; Shuuzou tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear and he leans into the touch. A few seconds later he’s snoring again; the temperature hasn’t gone down but the air shuts off anyway. There’s nothing to do now but go back to sleep, spread out his limbs and hope he dries off. Maybe they should get a ceiling fan.

* * *

They have toast in the morning and Ryouta doesn’t complain about there being no protein because it’s already too hot to fry him some egg whites or whatever he’s decided fits his diet next. Shuuzou dips it in the lukewarm coffee (they’d set it on delay and overslept again, but that’s typical for both of them and the only reason they get up so early anyway is because they know they’re not actually going to get out of bed). Ryouta’s doing his makeup at the table, transforming his face the way you’d polish silver, smoothing over foundation and concealer until his pores disappear, clamping something that looks like a torture device around his eyelashes until they curl gently like a painting of a wave and then painting them with mascara. He looks unreal in the sunlight; he’ll look even more unreal when he shows up retouched in a magazine or on a billboard advertising a sports drink that has too much sugar for him to consider touching or a fancy watch or a pair of sneakers—and that’s something, like the temperature units, Shuuzou’s never going to get used to, an uncanny-valley version of his boyfriend’s face staring at him when he’s stuck in traffic on the freeway.

He places a kiss on the top of Ryouta’s head, making sure to avoid the makeup on his face, and grabs his bag. He can’t be late for class. Ryouta catches his hand and squeezes it.

“Have a good day!” he calls.

“Good luck!” Shuuzou calls back.

* * *

He comes home to a sticky note from Ryouta stuck on the freezer door saying that there’s no practice today so he’ll be out with friends and if Shuuzou wants to join them just to text. The gesture isn’t empty (certainly Ryouta wouldn’t mind, whichever friends these are) but even so they both know Shuuzou is quite unlikely to take him up on the offer. After a long day in the classroom and the shop, the last thing Shuuzou wants to do is go right back out and make nice with Ryouta’s friends. Ryouta needs that, to be near-constantly social; Shuuzou doesn’t. Besides, he has a filter to change before he takes a shower and calls his brother; there’s enough to do that he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be going out in the first place.

The old filter is clogged with dust, covered in a blanket like volcanic ash with pieces trailing off the end, building themselves up. It’s disgusting and he’d left it for too long unchanged, but that’s the way these things go. There’s always too much to do and the household tasks slide back because he’s tired and Ryouta isn’t complaining and things haven’t reached the breaking point. He slides in the new filter and turns the thermostat back on; hopefully the room will have cooled off by the time he goes to bed.

He cleans out the toaster while he’s still thinking about it and then dusts off the television and takes out the large pile of newspapers for recycling; it’s enough to make the place look a little more presentable and that will have to do for now. He really needs a shower.

Shuuzou’s just toweling off when his cell phone rings; his brother’s apparently calling him first. They talk for a while about stuff in general before reaching the real purpose, what to do about their sister’s birthday. Shuuzou’s brother is still a kid and can’t afford much, so Shuuzou agrees that they can pitch in and buy her something together. What, Shuuzou isn’t sure—basketball tickets? A subscription to one of those fashion magazines she’s always flipping through in the grocery store checkout line? They agree to talk about it later and hang up. Ryouta’s still not back, but it’ll probably be a while. Shuuzou settles in to watch ESPN with a ham sandwich and leftover spinach salad.

* * *

He only wakes up once during the night; the room is cool and Ryouta is slipping into bed next to him. He mumbles something that sounds like a greeting in his head and Ryouta laughs, catching him around the waist with one arm and pulling him in.

In the morning when Shuuzou wakes up, for once before the alarm goes off, they’re still in the same position. He rolls out of bed, somehow without disturbing Ryouta, and walks into the kitchen. He turns on the coffee and hunts around for breakfast ingredients—the heat’s broken enough for cooking to be appealing, fried ham and eggs on toast maybe.

“Hey,” says Ryouta with a yawn from the doorway.

“Hey, you,” says Shuuzou.

Ryouta walks up to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before he reaches Shuuzou. Shuuzou kisses him; his morning breath is disgusting but Shuuzou supposes he’s not one to talk.

“Coffee smells good,” says Ryouta.

Shuuzou laughs. From the bedroom, he can hear the alarm clock that both of them had forgotten to unset, beeping its little electronic heart out.

“You want to get that?” says Shuuzou.

“Not really,” says Ryouta, “But I’ll do it for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> title is a relic of the simile that springboarded this fic except i cut that part out so. 
> 
> (ftr, they're y = sin(x) and y = sin (x+1))


End file.
